My Embarrassing Love Song
by Zee111
Summary: Adventures of Danny's daughter, Lucinda Fenton, called Liza Teeceajoy (splendid indeed, huh?) when in her ghost form. That (non-)lovely gal is... well, far from the hero her father has been. The action sets out in 2038. *The title credited to "Ode to Dawn Wiener: Embarrassing Love Songs" by Nicole Dollanganger.


My creepy adventure began while I was partying. Too bad, too undignified.

That night I sensed my _spleen, melancholy, ennui_ in every part of my cursed half human, half ghostly flesh. Obviously, a scientist should mundanely remark my moods, be them euphoria or depression, condensed merely in my brain; _mais oui_, so profane a person is bound to reduce our elevated, unbestial features to hormones, neuron cells or whatever else the goddess Biology wished to blame for our perception. But I, Reader, as you have already guessed, I guess, was no adherer of the already told stuff. I had grown used not to take every conventional information taught at schools or at universities for a fact as that official, piteous, so-called _science_ was blind to existence of ghosts and thus had they discovered me, they would not have even believed in me.

That night I could not forget who I was, _what _I was and though usually I would not ebb into _teenage angst,_ that night I could not help pondering my wickedness once it had come through my mind. Yes, I was a wayward girl, a creep who could not bear her monster part, _sa moité fantôme._

But there was more to my distress than merely that. I was nauseous, nauseous, nauseous. _Je veux plus d'un_. Where might I flee my exaggerated pondering to? Thank Heaven Vladimir Nabokov had created his precious works and one could take delight in them. Though, besides literature, there remained pure nothingness. Partying only let me down, so did my family. Of course, _ma famille_ (excluding my hideous grandfather, Jack Fenton) had brought me up, loved me and generally was all what you could wish for when it comes to the relatives, by no means do I dare to throw a bad word against them. Nevertheless, me, a lone wolf did not reach happiness in this pack.

I loathed that in my life, not a thing be to await.

_Ainsi_, I was carefully thinking about it all, having abandoned the sultry dancing room (just to lit a little cigarette, so I explained it to them), sitting on the terrace. I needed a solution, a solution was all I needed, all I needed was a solution... Run away or _quelque chose_...

"I must talk to you, miss Teeceajoy."

Aghast, I threw a look into the speaker's direction and attributable to my dizziness, only after an eternity did I realize he must have had a thing or two to do with ghosts for otherwise he should not be referencing to me with my ghost name. After another eternity, I discovered he indeed _was_ a ghost himself. Damn, even a drop of alcohol weakened my detection power.

In the dark, I was denied the ability to learn every single detail of his physics but what I, willy-nilly, did see, fairly sufficed. As for my taste, askew jaws, gigantic lips, yellish, pukable eyes somehow did not do.

I demanded his name.

"Oh, pardon my manners! My name is Bacchus. Coming from the Ghost Zone, the year 2007 to ask you for a favor..."

Time traveler? Well, okey-dokey... No wonder of this world made me wonder! And I bet some bits of information about time portals had crashed into me beforehand, out of a certain conversation between Father and Aunt Danni; of course they had arisen my interest to no degree, like anything that had something to do with physical phenomena. No, thanks, I was a phenomenon myself and that made one phenomenon too many already.

Back to Bacchus' introducing sentence, note, Reader, that very tricky trop – "a favor" – which, as I experienced first-hand afterwards, was a god-damn meiosis. Scarcely had he taken my hand and listed his expectations, I realized how much time his "world-savior" thing required, not to mention the effort and continuous, boring to death fights. (How I detested all those riots, melees and brawls! Yuk, definitely a tomboy-like entertainment. More delightful to stay home and read Emily Dickinson's poems.) I was – yes, he actually did word it like this, _quel cliché_! – "the Chosen One", the one to combat a Vlad Plasmium in the other reality, other time, alternative timeline. Even being the very carefree me, I smelled a trap – wise children do not trust strangers. Nevertheless, the idea of escaping to the past, past, where literally no one knew me, made me shiver under my skin.

And so he got me commited.


End file.
